


Delayed Departure

by Suchstuffasdreams



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Star, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky is a fan, Christmas, Currently accepting better ideas for the title, Holiday, M/M, Steve is a celebrity, meet cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchstuffasdreams/pseuds/Suchstuffasdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He set down the bag he was carrying and rubbed the back of his neck, "Do you know who I am?"<br/>"Early for your flight?" Bucky quipped, causing the guy to draw back in shock. Bucky couldn't help but chuckle, "Of course I know who you are. Captain America." Real name: Steve Rogers. Height: 6'3". Age: 30. Occupation: Incredibly Attractive Movie Star. Yeah, Bucky knew who he was alright.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>On a flight home from a vacation to L.A., amputee Bucky Barnes happens to meet Steve Rogers, incredibly-attractive world-famous star of the Captain America action movies. He helps him out and they get to talking. Cue disgusting holiday-themed meet cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. INT. Airport - Day

"Shit, shit, shit," the blond mass of muscle muttered under his breath as he skidded to an awkward stop about two feet away. Bucky glanced up at him from where he sat before going back to looking at his phone nonchalantly. The blond was now scanning the flight directory anxiously, still mumbling to himself, "Flight 2362... Delta... Delta, Delta, Delta... 23..."

Bucky finally had mercy on the poor guy. "Flight 2362 on Delta Airlines? To New York?" he asked, taking out one of his earbuds.

The hunk looked at him suddenly as if he hadn't even noticed him there, his mouth hanging open in a shocked (adorable) way before he shut it quickly.

"It's been delayed," Bucky offered, since the guy was struck dumb suddenly, "They think it'll be another hour."

The guy opened and closed his mouth again before speaking, "Oh, thanks," though Bucky had already put his earbud back in and gone back to texting. Regardless of Bucky's clear appearance of nonchalant disinterest, the guy just kept standing there, awkwardly, as if expectant.

Finally, when about thirty seconds had passed, Bucky looked up and took out his earbud again, "You waitin' on something, pal?"

The guy blushed and started stammering, "Uh, ye—uh, no, I mean..." He set down the bag he was carrying and rubbed the back of his neck, "Do you know who I am?"

"Early for your flight?" Bucky quipped, causing the guy to draw back in shock. Bucky couldn't help but chuckle, "Of course I know who you are. Captain America." _Real name: Steve Rogers. Height: 6'3". Age: 30. Occupation: Incredibly Attractive Movie Star._ Yeah, Bucky knew who he was alright.

The guy chuckled and shook his head, smiling widely now (dear God, did he have a pretty smile), "Yeah, yeah. Captain America."

"I gotta say, you're not as impressive in person," Bucky said, unable to stop himself. _Of course he would act like a little shit when meeting a movie star_.

Steve went pale, gaping again, "Oh," before Bucky chuckled nervously, "Sorry, just joking, making an ass of myself..."

Steve's eyes went wide in realization and he let out a full-bodied laugh, grabbing his own chest as if to keep himself from falling backward.

"Sorry if I shocked you a little, acting like I didn't know who you are," Bucky chuckled, "I just didn't wanna be that weird fan."

"I don't mean to be arrogant," Steve Rogers was shaking his head, "It's just, whenever someone I don't know talks to me, I kinda assume..." He trailed off, then seemed to notice something. "Oh, sorry if I'm interrupting you, uh..." He trailed off again, gesturing to something on Bucky's person.

Bucky realized he meant his earphones and sat up in his seat, taking them off, "Oh, no, I wasn't listening to anything. I just kinda wear these so no one tries to talk to me."

"Oh," Steve said with a smile, then suddenly frowned, "Oh!" He picked up his bag apologetically, "I'm sorry, I'll just—"

"Oh, no!" Bucky stopped him, gesturing with his hand, "I didn't mean— I mean, you're fine, unless you have somewhere to be..."

Steve put down his bag again, slowly, starting to laugh, "Oh, uh, no. I guess I'm kinda stuck here for an hour."

"Yeah, right, right..." Bucky nodded, laughing a little as well.

"You mind if I...?" Steve gestured to the empty seat to Bucky's right.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Bucky said, scooting his luggage over a little to make more room at the same moment that he became aware of there being several other empty seats nearby. ' _Captain America wants to sit next to me_ ,' flashed through his head momentarily before he brushed it away, as Steve put down his suitcase and bag and plopped down next to him, letting out a pleased sigh.

"Uh, I'm James, by the way," he said, deciding he didn't want to introduce himself to national icon and actual superhero Steven Grant Rogers as "Bucky". He awkwardly shifted and turned to hold out his right hand for Steve to shake, which he did just as awkwardly but without any seeming knowledge of the awkwardness of the handshake. (' _Good Lord_ ,' Bucky thought to himself, _'his hands are so strong and warm.'_ )

"Steve Rogers," he said. "Though I think you know that already," he added as Bucky laughed, "Yeah, I knew that already."

"So which flight are you waiting for?" Steve asked as he adjusted in his seat.

"Same as you, actually," Bucky nodded, "Flight 2363 to New York."

"Seriously?" Steve asked, face lit up with a smile (Bucky could melt under the intense whiteness of that smile).

"Yep," Bucky grinned, "Going back home for the holidays."

"Oh, yeah?" Steve nodded, "Gonna spend Christmas with your family?"

"Oh, uh," Bucky let his smile falter a little, studying the floor tiles now, "not exactly. I don't really have much of a family to speak of."

"Oh," Steve said, face going blank as he nodded, "yeah... I understand. My situation's sorta the same." Bucky knew. Steve's dad had died in action and his mom had developed terminal cancer a year before his first Captain America film. She'd died during filming. Apparently, Steve had channeled a lot of his grief into playing the war-torn action hero.

"Spending Christmas alone then?" Bucky asked, feeling a bit odd to be talking so casually to a movie star.

Steve shrugged, studying the floor again, "I don't know. I think I'll probably be joining friends at some point, but otherwise..." He shrugged again.

Bucky chuckled. "You don't finish a lot of your sentences, do you?"

Steve laughed back, "Sorry to disappoint. I guess they can't all be Cap's gritty one-liners."

Bucky shrugged, "I don't know, I don't just watch Captain America for the one-liners. He's a cool character..."

"Yeah," Steve said, nodding.

"I don't mean just for the, like, macho-man stuff," Bucky sighed, "I mean, I like that he's vulnerable. He's got his own problems and struggles, not just shooting bad guys and taking names and all that shit. He's got feelings." He caught Steve staring at him and blushed, trying to laugh it off nonchalantly, "Fuck's sake, here I am rambling on about Captain America to Captain America himself..."

"No, no, it's fine," Steve chuckled, his smile wide and warm, "I actually couldn't've said it better myself."

Bucky stared at his knees, unsure of how to continue the conversation.

"So," Steve said for him, "I guess this means you've seen my movies a lot?"

"Oh, yeah," Bucky sighed, "I mean, not just the _Captain America_ movies. I've seen, uh, _The Nanny Journals_ , _Before We Leave_ , um, _Keeping It Cool_ , _Can I Have Your Number_..." Bucky realized with a shock that he was listing solely romantic comedies he had seen Steve in. Very masculine. "Um, oh god, please forgive me 'cause this is probably gonna be wrong, but, um, _Snowdrifter_? Is that the one?"

Steve was fixated on him with his gorgeous bright blue eyes as he laughed, " _Snowdrifter_ , yeah..."

"Yeah," Bucky laughed, "I actually haven't seen that one all the way through yet but the moment I get time off from work..." He trailed off, laughing in time with Steve.

"This is probably a weird thing to say," Bucky said once he got his breath, "but you're, like, really easy-going for a movie star." Steve laughed as he continued, "Like, I could be some serial-killer stalker right now, or like a hack tabloid journalist wearing a wire..."

"You're not, right?" Steve laughed, though their was bait of uneasiness in his eyes.

"No, no," Bucky said, gesturing haltingly, "I am not a journalist, I'm not wearing a wire. I swear, you can pat me down if you want—" He paused momentarily, recognizing the innuendo he'd just made, before continuing, "And, uh, I'm definitely not a serial killer—"

"I don't know," Steve sighed, mock-serious, "That's exactly what a serial killer would say."

"True," Bucky nodded, "true, true." He sighed, "Man, I don't know how you do it. If I were famous, I'd be so goddamn paranoid, like Jesus Christ, dude..."

"I guess," Steve nodded with a smile, "I'll just have to trust you as someone I've just met to not be a serial killer or a tabloid writer..." He paused, then "Or worse, a serial killing tabloid writer."

Bucky laughed, and momentarily wondered, ' _What am I doing?_ ' Bucky was actually talking to movie star Steve Rogers right now. He could literally not imagine the number of times he had reblogged pictures of this guy on Tumblr with not-so-innocent captions. Bucky was more than just a fan — he probably qualified as one of those crazy people who get hauled away by security for trying to lunge at a celebrity. And here he was, talking to actual Greek god Steve Rogers as casually as if they were equals in the grand scheme of life.

 _Dear God, the guy was ten years older than Bucky!_ Bucky wondered if Steve even realized that, though —Bucky's long hair (pulled loosely into a ponytail at the moment) and somewhat-trimmed beard made him look older than he actually was (at least that's what people told him). He wondered if Steve Rogers would be so comfortable talking to him if he realized he was just turning 21 in February.

Then again, the guy didn't seem turned off by Bucky's lack of a left arm or anything, so...

_Oh, wait._

Did Steve even realize he was missing a left arm?

It was sorta obvious, usually, but the hoodie Bucky was wearing had extra long sleeves that would normally cover his hands, and his left sleeve was hanging over his leg, looking kinda believably like an actual arm.

_Oops._

Both him and Steve perked up in unison as the tone rang out signaling that the intercom was coming on. "Now Boarding," a perky female voice announced, "Flight 2363, Delta Airlines, to New York." She repeated the announcement several times. Steve looked at Bucky and shrugged, "I guess that's us."

"That was quick," Bucky said as Steve stood up and started grabbing his bags. Bucky did likewise, putting away his phone and headphones with one hand and grabbing his bag in seconds flat. He felt proud at having mastered doing things with one hand, but was also slightly pissed that he'd left his prosthetic at home (made for less awkward questions at airport security, even though it made holding multiple things at once much easier).

"Need a hand?" Steve suddenly asked, looking between Bucky and his suitcase inquisitively.

' _Steve Rogers wants to carry my suitcase for me,_ ' flashed through Bucky's mind (followed somewhat rapidly by photographic images of the typical E!News headlines about actual Boy Scout Steve Rogers helping old ladies cross the street and lifting heavy or high up things for strangers), followed by the mental note, ' _He has still not shown any sign of noticing my lack of a left arm_ '.

"I've got it," Bucky managed to stutter, picking up his suitcase handle with the same hand as the straps on his bag.

Something flashed across Steve's face — _sadness? No..._ — before he smiled widely and warmly, "Alright, welp, it was great talking to you, James."

"Same to you, Cap," Bucky managed with a chuckle.

Steve chuckled and shook his head, "Maybe we'll see each other again soon."

"Maybe," Bucky said as they both walked toward the gate, soon losing each other in the crowd.

Bucky couldn't help but analyze the entire conversation several times on his way to the gate to board. Jesus Christ, he'd just talked to Steve Rogers! He'd only been in L.A. for two days and he meets the veritable hottest guy on Earth.

His memory went back to Steve asking if he needed help. He wasn't sure if Steve had just thought his hands were full, maybe, or if he actually noticed the missing arm but didn't want to say anything. But people always said something. It was a fact of life. They'd murmur condolences uncomfortably or even just stare at him while whispering to their friend about how sad it was that Bucky had no left arm. But Steve? He didn't bat an eyelash. What was up with that? And Bucky kept seeing that look that crossed his face when Bucky said he didn't need any help... Was that sadness? Disappointment?

_Was Steve Rogers disappointed he couldn't carry Bucky's stuff for him?_

' _Maybe we'll see each other again soon_ ,' he'd said. _He sounded kinda sad..._

Did Steve Rogers actually enjoy Bucky's company? Enough to carry his stuff for him as an excuse to keep talking?

' _No_ ,' Bucky thought, shaking his head, ' _He's a hot celebrity, a movie star. He meets tons of people and fans every day. Why would he give a fuck about me any more than any other schmuck?_ '

_Then again..._

Bucky let out a long sigh of anguish.

His Christmas Eve was going to be actual hell on Earth.


	2. INT. Airplane - Day/Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky laughed, putting away his earphones, "No, you're totally fine. I enjoy conversation a lot more than music." That was a lie; Bucky listened to music to avoid conversation, but he'd happily throw his phone out the airplane window if it meant getting to talk to Steve Rogers.  
> "I guess we're neighbors," Steve chuckled.  
> "Yeah," Bucky nodded, then grew confused, "Wait, why are you flying coach? Isn't your net worth, like, 40 or 50 million dollars?" Bucky knew it was 40. Yet again he was trying to remain cool and nonchalant.
> 
> ...
> 
> Bucky has a bit of an unexpected seat neighbor on his flight.

Bucky found his seat on the plane — an aisle seat in the middle section — and sat down after stowing his bag. The plane was a little cool and he felt a little tired and resolved to wrap his hoodie around himself, listen to some music, and sleep the whole plane trip (and most importantly, try not to think about Steve Rogers). He put his earbuds in, and set his music on Shuffle on his phone. Halsey's "Roman Holiday" started playing somewhat appropriately as he sank back in his seat and closed his eyes. Even with the cloth cover, the airplane seat was hard and a bit uncomfortable, but Bucky had slept in far worse, and he was soon lulled into a half-sleep.

Bucky was somewhat startled out of his stupor by someone calling out, "James!" He was about to pull out his earbud and gripe that that was his father's name when he looked up and recognized Steve's face, smiling at him from across the aisle. He was in the window seat of the row to Bucky's right, and was now wearing a baseball cap to cover his hair.

Bucky's heart skipped a beat, and he stopped his music to pull out his earbuds. "Hey," Bucky greeted at the same time Steve chuckled, "I said your name a few times."

"Sorry," Bucky chuckled awkwardly. "I was actually listening to music this time." _Why was Steve Rogers so happy to see him, Bucky Barnes, a nobody?_ (Not that Bucky was complaining, of course; it's not every day you get to make small talk with a wealthy, adorable celebrity.)

"Oh," Steve said, and then frowned, "Oh, sorry, I'll leave you to—"

Bucky laughed, putting away his earphones, "No, you're totally fine. I enjoy conversation a lot more than music." That was a lie; Bucky listened to music to avoid conversation, but he'd happily throw his phone out the airplane window if it meant getting to talk to Steve Rogers.

"I guess we're neighbors," Steve chuckled.

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, then grew confused, "Wait, why are you flying coach? Isn't your net worth, like, 40 or 50 million dollars?" Bucky knew it was 40. Yet again he was trying to remain cool and nonchalant.

Steve laughed, "Not that much. I just like being back here. First Class feels too jarring and high class. I feel closer to people here."

Bucky snorted, "That's the exact reason why I'd want to fly first class."

Steve chuckled, "Yeah, well, I wasn't always famous, and, I dunno, I guess I never got completely used to it. The fame, the notoriety, wealth..."

Bucky nodded, a bit unsure of what to say.

The two people also sitting in his row sat down pretty soon after that: two radically-hetero guys in business suits, apparently friends or partners or whatever it was called in their white collar line of work. Steve had started looking at his phone, likely checking his last notifications before they'd have to turn off all electronics, and Bucky was growing more irritated by the minute with his two seat-mates. Their loud conversation seemed to rapidly switch between two simple subjects: the vast amount of money they were making in their jobs, and the various ways they knew of to degrade and objectify women sexually.

The overhead intercom rang out a chime, and a flight attendant's voice came echoing through the room, telling everyone to please turn off all electronics and buckle up, followed by explanations of safety procedures.

"You okay?" Steve suddenly asked Bucky. His phone was now tucked away and off. Bucky noticed no one else was sitting in his row — Steve had all three seats to himself.

"Yeah, fine," Bucky sighed as he turned off his own phone. "Just, um..." He nodded his head toward the two guys next to him, who had kept talking just as obnoxiously throughout the flight attendant's instructions.

"Oh," Steve said, and was then interrupted by a flight attendant as she came to ask him something in a hushed tone. Bucky jolted as he was jabbed in the side by the business-douche to his direct left. "Sorry," the man mumbled unapologetically, barely nodding in Bucky's direction before returning to his heated conversation about some bootleg form of Snapchat that let you save pictures of naked women or some shit. Within seconds, he'd absentmindedly elbowed Bucky again, this time with only a glance to acknowledge what he'd done. Bucky shifted in his seat to get closer toward the aisle, only to notice the guy do a double-take before whispering not-so-quietly to his friend, " _Dude, check out this freak_ ," followed by the two men " _covertly_ " looking at Bucky at the same time.

"Oh my god," the farther guy murmured to the guy who'd kept elbowing Bucky.

"I know, right?" exclaimed Douche #1. "He's totally missing his arm!"

"You think he's missing the other one, too?" asked Douche #2.

"Man, I don't know..."

Bucky's attention was graciously diverted by a tap on the shoulder. He looked up to his right to see the flight attendant who'd been talking to Steve bending over toward him. "Sir, uh, Mr Rogers has arranged for you to be moved to Seat 6C, if that's alright with you?"

Bucky glanced past her at the numbers on the panels above seats. 6C was the aisle seat in Steve's row. _God bless Steve Rogers._

"Thanks," Bucky sighed with relief, standing and moving his bag over to the compartment above Steve's row. As he sat down, Steve was busy writing something down on a small sheet of paper in Sharpie. He was concentrating adorably, his tongue hanging out of his mouth slightly. He finished and handed the sheet to the smiling flight attendant — "Carol", her name tag read. Bucky realized the paper was actually a copy of one of his Captain America posters, which he'd just signed the back of.

"There you go," Steve smiled warmly.

The flight attendant giggled nervously, "Thank you so much!"

"No problem, no problem," Steve shook his head, even starting to blush, "I love to meet a fan."

The flight attendant, Carol, grinned. At that same moment, Bucky overheard Douche #2 mutter, "Dude, look who _No-Arms_ got moved next to!"

Douche #1 glanced over and gasped, "No way!" He started to stand up to walk over (to Bucky's dismay) when Carol suddenly turned to him and snapped, "Sir, please sit down, the plane is about to take off."

With that, she hurried to join the attendant who'd made the announcement moments ago. She showed her the autograph and they both squealed silently.

Bucky chuckled, looking at Steve, "Thanks a ton, man. Wow."

"No problem, just helpin' you out," Steve said, still blushing as he looked at Bucky. (' _Did he blush at Carol because he thought she was pretty or because he knew I was watching?_ ' Bucky thought momentarily before brushing the thought aside.)

"You get a lot of girls asking for autographs, don't you?" Bucky sighed.

Steve shook his head, blush fading, "Kinda, I guess. Girls ask for autographs, guys usually want me to, like, bench press them or something. Go tell their buddies how Captain America beat them at arm wrestling or picked them up off the ground and it was ' _so cool_ '." He and Bucky both laughed in unison.

"No way," Bucky said incredulously.

"Yep," Steve nodded, then jolted a little in his seat, "Do you want an autograph? Or, like...?"

Bucky laughed, "I don't want to arm wrestle you. I'm already way more than 50% sure you'll win." Bucky wiggled his left arm-stump so that the sleeve bounced around. Surprisingly, Steve let out a full laugh at that. (' _He is fully aware that I am missing an arm,_ ' Bucky thought, half-satisfied.) "An autograph might be cool though," Bucky finished.

"Alright," Steve said with mock-enthusiasm, as if he were agreeing to a wrestling match. He brandished his Sharpie and pulled a copy of one of his posters out of his bag at his feet. "Who do I make it out to, James?"

Bucky laughed, "Uh, lemme think. Hm. Who would be the most scandalized to learn I met Steve Rogers." Steve laughed. He pondered it a moment and had a thought. "My sister Rebecca actually has a crush on you, I think," Bucky chuckled, then added, "She's actually who I'm spending my Christmas with."

"Oh," Steve nodded, smiling warmly, "How old is she?"

"She is sixteen years old and a minor, Steve Rogers," Bucky feigned scolding, "Don't you even think about it, mister!"

Steve acted aghast, "What are you talking about? I wouldn't—"

"Oh no, Steve Rogers," Bucky wagged his finger at him, "I know about your reputation with the ladies."

"Reputation?" Steve scoffed, doing that cute thing where he opened and closed his mouth in shock.

"Yes sir," Bucky nodded smartly, "You dated that Peggy Carter for two years about the time of your first Captain America movie, and recently you attended your latest movie premiere with her cousin Sharon Carter. Two girls in six years, sir, and from the same bloodline!" Bucky tsked disapprovingly.

Steve clearly couldn't hold in his laughter much longer, finally letting it out in another full-bodied laugh, this time which had people looking in their direction.

"Alright," Steve sighed, breathing heavily as he came down from his fit of laughter, "alright." He began to sign, reading out loud, " _To James' sister Rebecca. Merry Christmas._ " He thought a moment and asked, "Anything else?"

"That sounds good," Bucky nodded, smiling.

"Alright," Steve nodded, and finished signing, " _Yours truly, Steve Rogers_." He wrote in an " _xoxo_ " followed by a doodle of his Captain America shield. "There you go," he said, handing Bucky the signed poster.  
"Wow, man, thanks," Bucky said, chuckling as he reached up to tuck it away.

"No problem," Steve said, just as he had with Carol the flight attendant. Bucky fleetingly wondered if he was just another fan to Steve, or perhaps if Steve was simply just as kind to flight attendants asking for autographs as he was to friendly acquaintances.

The flight attendant came back over the intercom, "If everyone will please remain seated and buckle up, we will soon be beginning our ascent."

Bucky buckled his seatbelt and noticed Steve fumbling with his a little before successfully buckling it. He looked a little fidgety now, messing with the strap and moving his bag around by his feet until it had been in two different positions before going back to the one it had originally been in.

"You okay?" Bucky asked.

"What?" Steve asked, glancing up at him with the same dazed expression he'd had when he first saw him in the airport. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just get a little nervous on planes."

_'Ah!'_ Bucky realized. _'That's why he's so nice to me. Having someone friendly and talkative along for the ride will keep his nerves under control.'_ Bucky didn't mind. He'd been used for less, and honestly, being used as a stress aid by the living hunk of marble known as Steven Grant Rogers was not the worst occupation.

Sure enough, the flight attendants vanished to their seats in their quarters and the plane began to move, rolling down the Tarmac and then lifting off. Bucky had a momentary feeling of weightlessness, like his intestines and stomach were playing Double Dutch. He always felt this way when on planes, but was luckily always able to overcome it quickly before having to throw up.

Bucky glanced at Steve, and realized he was doing far worse. Captain America was plastered to his seat, face pale and eyes closed, breathing very slowly. "Don't you kinda have to ride on planes often?" Bucky asked to try to distract him, "I mean, I assume you do for your line of work, unless you just take, like, _really_ long drives everywhere."

It seemed to work, given that Steve glanced at him and chuckled, "Yeah, I just get kinda claustrophobic. It's why I usually buy out my whole row, so I can have it to myself..." He took a deep breath.

"Oh," Bucky murmured, "so, like, would you be more comfortable if I moved back over—?"

"No!" Steve interrupted, "Stay! I'll calm down soon. And having someone to talk to should take the edge off."

"Alright," Bucky nodded, "you need anything? A barf bag, some water, a bite guard..." Part of him wanted to ask " _a hand to hold?_ " but he decided against it.

Steve laughed, albeit a bit uncomfortably, "Do you actually have any of those things on you?"

"No," Bucky admitted, "but I'm sure the flight attendants would be happy to provide once we're at cruising altitude."

Steve laughed again, this time a little more freely.

'I can't believe this,' Bucky thought, 'I'm talking Steve Rogers down from a potential panic attack.'

"What are you doing, by the way?" Bucky suddenly asked, "For Christmas, I mean? If you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, yeah, its fine..." Steve had started to relax, no longer stuck to his seat. He looked over at Bucky and smiled weakly.

"I just mean, like, I've got my sister to spend it with, but..." Bucky trailed off.

"Yeah, I'm, uh, probably gonna visit with a few of my neighbors. The ones that are home, at least..." Bucky understood the unsaid 'not away with family'.

"Where do you live?" Bucky asked, then recognized the odd phrasing and course corrected, "I don't mean, like, ' _what's your address_ ', but like... surburban, penthouse, what?"

Steve laughed, "I've got an apartment in Brooklyn."

"Oh wow, me too!" Bucky grinned, then shrugged, "well, I mean, mine probably isn't near as nice as yours but..." They both laughed. Bucky asked, "So how's a guy as rich and famous as you end up in Brooklyn?"

Steve chuckled and shrugged his shoulders adorably, "'s just where I grew up. It's what feels like home."

"You can take the man out of Brooklyn but you can't take the Brooklyn out of man," Bucky mused, causing Steve to laugh. "Or something like that," Bucky chuckled.

The lit up icon telling everyone to buckle their seatbelts turned off and the flight attendant came back over the intercom, "We have now reached cruising altitude and you may now move freely about the cabin." Bucky and Steve unbuckled and let out simultaneous heavy sighs. Flight attendants began walking around with refreshment carts. Bucky was suddenly mortified to hear, "Hey, man, are you really Steve Rogers?"

He didn't need to look up to know it was Douche #1 and Douche #2 from his earlier seating arrangement.

"Uh, yeah," Steve said with an obliging smile, glancing at Bucky to let him know he recognized them as well.

"Oh, man!" Douche #1 fist pumped, "Dude, we are your biggest fans!"

"Huge fans!" Douche #2 nodded.

"Always great to meet fans," Steve said with a slightly awkward smile.

"Man, you were so awesome in Captain America 2!" Douche #1 was loudly praising him.

"The scene where you took out that whole elevator of guys, dude," Douche #2 backed him up. "So epic!"

"You kicked ass!" Douche #1 nodded enthusiastically, leaning on Bucky's seat now as if he weren't there.

"Thanks, guys," Steve nodded, "It means a lot."

"Man, what's it like to work with Sharon Carter?" Douche #1 suddenly asked.

"Aw dude, she's so hot," Douche #2 groaned.

"Dude, you've _gotta_ be hittin' that!" Douche #1 nodded, pounding his fist into his open palm to signify sex in some brutal Neanderthal-ish way.

Bucky glanced at Steve, who appeared a little mortified at the comment.

"Man, can you say the line?" Douche #2 asked eagerly.

"The line?" Steve asked.

"The line from the elevator!" Douche #2 exclaimed.

"Oh, I don't know if I could..." Steve trailed off, face turning red.

"Aw come on," Douche #2 groaned.

"Yeah, come on," Douche #1 parroted.

"Come on, Steve," Bucky sighed, "Just say it." The two douches were abruptly reminded of Bucky's existence, but managed to forget about him in mere moments.

Steve glared at him with a look of betrayal before clearing his throat and immediately going into character.

"'Before we get started'," he quoted, "'is there anyone who'd like to get out?'"

Bucky had to admit, Steve's delivery was impressively similar to the movie scene.

"Aw man, that's amazing," Douche #1 grunted.

"So cool," Douche #2 agreed.

Steve shifted in his seat uncomfortably, "Do you guys want autographs or something?"

Not seeming to get the message, the two douches squealed in unison, "Yeah!"

Steve huffed out a sigh and reached into his bag. "Darn, it looks like I only have one copy of the poster left..." Bucky could see he was lying. There were several, but they were out of sight of the leering douchebags.

"That's cool," Douche #1 shrugged, "You can make it out to both of us. My name's Brock Rumlow—" Steve pulled out his Sharpie quickly and started scribbling out the guy's name as he spelled it, "R-U-M-L-O-W."

Douche #2 added, "And you can just make mine out to 'Strucker'. That's S-T-R-U-C-K-E-R."

Steve finished, signing it with just his name, no flourishes, and handed them the poster. "There you go. You guys enjoy the rest of the flight."

They seemed to get it then. "Oh, yeah, sure, man," Douche #2 said, taking the poster.

"Thanks a lot, man!" Douche #1 said as they both headed back to their seats.

"You know," Steve murmured to Bucky confidentially, "in the original script, the line was 'does anybody want to get _off_ '? But they realized it sounded _funny_ so they had me redub it to change it to ' _out_ '."

"No way," Bucky laughed. He couldn't help the sudden mental image of Captain America offering to help an elevator full of bad guys _get off_. ( _Not now, boner._ )

Steve nodded, laughing as well, "Truth."

"I am so sorry about that, by the way," Bucky chuckled nervously.

"No, dude, I should apologize," Steve shook his head. "They were kinda being assholes to you and I kinda let 'em."

"Nah, man," Bucky shrugged, "you just met me. You've got no reason to stick up for me or anything."

"Yeah," Steve sighed, "but I mean, I kinda overheard what they said over there about you and your arm..." He trailed off before tacking on, "It just sucks."

"I've dealt with far worse, man," Bucky assured him.

"If you don't mind my asking," Steve said, "how did you, um..."

"Lose my arm?" Bucky prodded. Steve nodded, looking a little nervous. Bucky smiled reassuringly, "Single tour in Afghanistan. Took a high caliber rifle shot straight to the bone. Apparently a ton of splinters got in there or something. They basically couldn't save my arm, so they just kinda..." He made a slicing motion with his right index finger over where the stump at his shoulder was. " _Slick!_ " he made the noise of a knife cutting. "I still have about four and a half inches of forearm, but after that, nothing."

"Man, that's terrible," Steve shook his head. Bucky looked up at him and could see genuine concern in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Bucky said. "I've gotten used to it. And I'm honestly kinda glad it was my left arm, 'cause God knows what the hell I'd be doin' if I lost my writing hand or one of my legs or some shit. And I made it out of there with a lot less damage than most guys, really. Psychologically, I mean. I was there ten months, most guys it can last up to two years. Really wares you down."

"So, have you got, like, PTSD?" Steve asked. "Or...?"

"Kinda," Bucky shrugged. "I mean, technically, yeah, that is the term for it. But like in the movies and stuff they always show, like, the really _bad_ guys. The guys with trigger fingers and war flashbacks and everything. Me, I get nightmares often, but for the most part I'm just tired. You know?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded understandingly, looking at him in a warm way that made him want to smile (which he gradually did). "So, why'd you go into the Army?" Steve asked, then tacked on, "I mean, if you don't mind—"

"I don't," Bucky chuckled, then sighed, "I dunno. Idealistic teenager, I guess. My mom and dad died in a bad car accident when I was 17. Drunk driver. I was close enough to my eighteenth birthday to get legally emancipated pretty easily. I took care of my sister for a while. She's three years younger than me. All my life I just kinda felt... I dunno if depressed is the right word. I just wanted to find my purpose, you know? And guys in the military, they always seemed so sure of themselves, so patriotic, doing what's right, fighting the good fight, being macho men... Not that there aren't women in the military, of course, I just mean, when you're a kid, that's what you see... So I explored my options, enlisted in the Army, got accepted and trained and everything and... I guess I did pretty well for a while, but I kinda realized that unfortunately it, uh..." Bucky trailed off, unsure of where to go with that sentence.

"It wasn't all it's cracked up to be," Steve nodded, smiling faintly.

"Yeah," Bucky smiled.

They talked like that for a while. The flight was five hours long, and they spent about four of those hours talking casually — Bucky fell asleep in the middle somewhere and woke with a start to Steve Rogers sitting one seat a way from him, shocking him a bit until he remembered where he was and all that. Steve talked about his family and his mom and dad, about his work and his life (Bucky learned more than any interview or article had ever told him), and Bucky talked about the same.

When the plane landed, it was another awkward goodbye. Bucky desperately wanted to leave a good impression, but he wasn't sure what to do to make that happen, and he and Steve ended up talking about nothing in particular while they unbuckled their seatbelts and got ready to disembark.

"Well," Steve sighed, "I guess this is goodbye again."

"Guess so," Bucky shrugged. "Maybe we'll see each other around Brooklyn."

"Maybe," Steve said with a wide, hopeful smile that made Bucky's heart leap in his chest. God, did this guy have to be so damn adorable.

Bucky pulled down his bag and gradually worked his way into the stream of passengers headed for the door. "Bye," he called to Steve, who was still getting his things together.

"Bye," Steve said back, and to Bucky it felt a little like a death sentence on the entire budding friendship.

They weren't ever going to see each other again, Bucky realized as he walked away from the ariplane. The temperature in New York was about 20 degrees colder than it had been in L.A., and he was thankful for the hoodie he was wearing as he trekked through the lukewarm airport, getting his bearings. He checked his watch — it was 2:45 AM in New York, even though his body was somewhat used to Pacific time by now. It was only 11:00 PM in California right now. Bucky shivered. It was already technically Christmas Eve. _Time for suffering to begin_.

Bucky was so busy bemoaning his multiple plights that he didn't notice the shouting until he was walking out the front door of the airport with his suitcase and bag.

"Hey, James, wait!" he suddenly heard.

He stopped and spun around to see Steve Rogers running toward him through the airport at full speed, clutching a piece of paper in his hand — the autographed poster. "You forgot this on the plane," Steve said as he caught up to him outside the doors, only barely out of breath as he handed it to Bucky. "You're lucky it fell down with my stuff, or we'd both have forgotten it."

"Thanks," Bucky murmured, slipping the poster into his bag.

A small crowd was gathering in the airport — people getting closer but not too close, murmuring about the celebrity they were spotting, some trying to snap pictures on their phones of Captain America. "Here come the loyal followers," Steve chuckled.

Bucky finally decided he didn't care what happened next. He might never see this guy again, at least not in real life. Whatever happened in the next minute, the worst that could come of it was that he'd be the anonymous butt of some anecdote told by Steve Rogers on some late night talk show episode. So Bucky said what he felt like saying.

"My friend Natasha says that public displays of affection keep people from staring."

Steve jolted, just slightly, barely noticeable.

"Or somethin' like that," Bucky shrugged. "She says it makes people uncomfortable to see people hugging or kissing or whatever, so they automatically look away or walk away. Somethin' like that." He chuckled, "Part of me thinks that's just her trying to get me to kiss her or something."

"Oh yeah?" Steve asked, smiling now, and then, to Bucky's shock, he moved slightly closer. "And what are you trying to get me to do, James?"

Bucky shrugged, "Gee, Steve Rogers, I don't know. What do you think I'm trying to get you to do?"

Steve huffed out a breath, barely a chuckle, "I think you mentioned something about public displays of affection." He nodded, gaze unwavering, "Yeah, something like that."

"A kiss from Steve Rogers would be a great ending to my article in my hack tabloid," Bucky nodded, smiling.

"Oh, really?" Steve said, still nodding and smiling.

"Yes, sir," Bucky nodded, and then shrugged, "You never did search me for that wire."

"Uh-huh," Steve said, then suddenly pulled out his Sharpie again, "Well, when you publish this hack tabloid article..." He grabbed Bucky's arm suddenly, pushing up the sleeve. "...I would very much like you to text me a link to it." And with that, he was writing his number, all 7 digits plus area code, on Bucky's arm. "Or, you know, just text me if you feel like it," Steve said, smiling again.

Bucky was probably blushing, but tried to stay nonchalant, "Okay, but like, for your own safety, I gotta ask how often you do this? 'Cause this is a real trusting thing to do with someone you met like six hours ago..."

Steve laughed, "I don't know. I don't usually do this."

"Then why me, huh?" Bucky quirked an eyebrow.

Steve shifted from foot to foot, blushing a little, "I guess... I guess it started with what you said, at LAX, when you started rambling about Captain America. The stuff you were saying about the character... I don't know, it's just like the exact same stuff I feel about him, you know?"

"Yeah," Bucky chuckled. He and Steve stood there a moment just looking at each other. Bucky scanned the guy's entire perfect face: his beautiful blue eyes, his classically handsome profile, his pink lips, the little red blush creeping along his cheeks (either from the cold or from Bucky). And Bucky waited. Waited for the glass ceiling to shatter. For the kicker. The " _I'm not interested in you that way_ " or " _I'm actually a huge douchebag_ " or " _Bucky Barnes, you are on Punk'd_ ".

But, instead, Steve just grinned like an idiot and saluted him adorably, "See you around sometime, soldier."

Bucky chuckled and saluted back, "Hope so, Cap."

Steve laughed, then turned and walked away, leaving Bucky standing like a lovestruck sap in the cold.

_What the fuck just happened._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there's Chapter 2. Chapter 3 shall hopefully be up by Saturday night. Merry Christmas!


	3. INT. Apartment Hallway - Night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's got you all smiley, Steve Rogers?" Natalie asked, setting down her trash outside her door and leaning against the frame.  
> "Nothing," he said, aware he was still grinning from thinking of James' face when he had been joking about his love life.  
> Natalie narrowed her eyes at him while he tried to find his keys. "Did you meet a /boy/?"
> 
> ...
> 
> Steve confesses to his neighbor about his new friend James.

Natalie was taking out her trash when Steve got to his door. He'd been spending the entire trip from the airport to his house thinking about James, and hoping to God that the guy really was as fantastic as he seemed.

"What's got you all _smiley_ , Steve Rogers?" Natalie asked, setting down her trash outside her door and leaning against the frame.

"Nothing," he said, aware he was still grinning from thinking of James' face when he had been joking about his love life.

Natalie narrowed her eyes at him while he tried to find his keys. "Did you meet a _boy_?"

Steve sputtered indignantly, still unable to stop grinning.

"Oh my god!" she howled with glee. "You did! You met a boy!" Steve was infinitely glad their apartments were the only ones on the floor, or else he'd be outed to the world.

Steve let out an exasperated sigh and gave up looking for his keys to glare at her, faintly smiling still, "How did you know—How could you possibly know that?!"

"I'm very perceptive," she smiled, like a cat catching prey. "Oh, Providence! Here I was thinking you'd become celibate! Come here, _bubbilah_ , and give me a hug!"

"I didn't know you were Jewish," Steve chuckled as she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close, red hair brushing against his chin.

"I'm not," she smirked as she pulled back again, "I've just been invested in your love life for so long that I'm practically your Yiddish mother by now." Steve laughed. It was true; Natalie had tried by now to fix him up with pretty much every other person in the building. "So what's his name?" she asked.

"James," Steve said, blushing.

"James!" she exclaimed. "Sounds sexy! How'd you meet?"

"At the airport," Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "Our flight was delayed and we started talking, and he was just really funny and said all this stuff about Captain America that was, like, spot on, my thoughts exactly..."

"That is so cute..." Natalie beamed. "Go on."

"So on the plane I got him to sit next to me and we talked some more, and we kinda didn't really stop talking..."

"Oh my god," she squealed quietly.

"And I signed a poster for his sister and kinda gave him my number..."

Natalie gaped, "Oh my god! Steve, you really like this boy!"

"Yeah, kinda," Steve chuckled awkwardly.

"Okay, but you know for sure he's not paparazzi or something, right?"

"I mean, I'm pretty sure," Steve shrugged, "We talked for so long and he seemed so open... He joked a few times about me being too trusting, but... I don't know, he was just really cute."

"You look like a big sap right now," Natalie crooned. "Why don't you come inside my apartment? I can crack open a bottle of whatever's good and alcoholic and you can tell me every gory detail..."

"Nah," Steve shook his head. "I think I'd better go inside. It's really late. I need my sleep."

"Alright, Steve," Natalie sighed, picking up her trash bag. "Have a good night."

"Thanks," Steve said, finding his keys.

"And good luck with your new _boyfriend_..." Natasha bellowed as she walked down the hallway to the elevator.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Steve shouted as she boarded the elevator, and a hopeful part of him piped up, "... _yet_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Steve's point of view! Finally!  
> And also, Natalie is a pretty obvious reference (or at least obvious to me) to a certain beloved character already mentioned. Why does Steve call her Natalie? Only time will tell.  
> Lol I'm a huge idiot and this chapter was so fun, this fic is honestly so fun to write it kills me.  
> (Also, God knows I probably butchered the spelling of that Yiddish, but hey, it's a slang language, why stick to any specific spelling, right?)


	4. INT. Bucky's Place - Day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Would you believe me if I told you I kinda met Steve Rogers?" Bucky asked.  
> For the first time Natasha looked directly into the camera without breaking her gaze. "You did what now?"  
> "At the airport," Bucky chuckled, "I saw him, and we, like, talked, and... God, I don't even know if it was real at this point. I was barely lucid. I hadn't slept in 24 hours..."  
> "Wait wait wait," Natasha spoke urgently, "'Captain America, hottie with a body, giant fucking dork, love of your life', Steve Rogers?"
> 
> ...
> 
> Bucky tells his friend Natasha about his new acquaintance Steve Rogers, texts Steve, and prepares for his sister's imminent arrival.

Bucky woke up to his phone ringing and his drool pooling on the throw pillow under his head. His hair was out of the ponytail he last remembered having it in, and his legs were bent at an off angle, feet hanging over the back of his couch.

In the scramble to grab his phone off the coffee table, he remembered coming home and undoing his hair with the intention of showering and washing it. Apparently somewhere between sitting down to catch a few minutes of a recording on his DVR and actually going to take the shower, he passed out for 9 hours. It was almost noon.

The caller was Natasha, FaceTiming him. With a reluctant groan, Bucky answered and sank back onto the couch.

"Jesus Christ, Barnes," Nat sighed on the other end. She was wearing her dark red hair in a ponytail with some light perspiration on her brow. Bucky realized she must be working out at home. "You look like that dead girl from _The Ring_." That was mostly true — Bucky's eyes had dark circles and his hair was falling over most of his face. He brushed it away with a sigh, "You look great too, Natasha."

"I know I do, Bucky baby," she smirked, apparently now powerwalking on the treadmill. "Did you sleep on your couch again?"

"Yeah," Bucky awkwardly sat up, stretching.

"I swear, I'm gonna have to hire you a live-in nurse," Natasha shook her head. "You do not take good enough care of yourself."

"Why are you calling, Nat?" Bucky chuckled.

"Just checking on you," she shrugged, "as I apparently ought to be." She sipped from a water bottle and sighed, "You texted me before your flight yesterday that you'd send me a text when you got back. I woke up this morning. No text. My assumption was that you were dead in a ditch somewhere and I'd be inheriting your TV for Christmas."

"Hey, my will is very clear," Bucky said, standing to go get some water. "You get my bed, not my TV. _That_ goes to Rebecca."

"Jesus, Barnes, why the hell would I want your bed?" she said in mock anger, "It's too small already and God knows what kind of nocturnal emissions that poor thing has borne witness to."

"Nat!" Bucky yelled, opening his fridge.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I wasn't speaking correctly; it's not called a nocturnal emission if you're awake jerking off to Steve Rogers—"

"Nat!!!" Bucky yelled even louder. He swore she had no sense of boundaries. Of course, now that she mentioned Steve Rogers, he suddenly began to recall the previous night's events...

She laughed and took another swig from her bottle. Given Natasha, it might very well have been vodka in that bottle instead of water. "So what's up?" she shot out her rapid fire questions, "Why didn't you text me last night? And why are you making that face? What happened?"

"What face?" Bucky asked defensively, though the majority of his brain was caught up with photographic memories of blue eyes and close-cropped blond hair...

"That face," she accused, "right there! You're grinning like an idiot! What's up?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I kinda met Steve Rogers?" Bucky asked.

For the first time Natasha looked directly into the camera without breaking her gaze. " _You did what now_?"

"At the airport," Bucky chuckled, "I saw him, and we, like, talked, and... God, I don't even know if it was real at this point. I was barely lucid. I hadn't slept in 24 hours..."

" _Wait wait wait_ ," Natasha spoke urgently, "'Captain America, hottie with a body, giant fucking dork, love of your life', _Steve Rogers_?"

Bucky blushed. Those were all titles he had frequently used to describe Steve Rogers to her. "Yes," he confirmed, "It was amazing. I can literally due now. I have seen everything I needed to on this earth—"

"Woah there, Buck," Natasha chuckled, "don't go jumping off any tall buildings. What happened? What was he like?"

"I met him at the airport, and we talked," Bucky shrugged, grinning as he took a bottle of water out of his fridge and closed it, "and then on the plane, he let me sit next to him, and we talked some more, and he said he really liked what I thought about Captain America, and... God, I don't even know how much of this next part is real, but I remember him giving me this autographed poster and his number... I swear to God it was unreal..."

"He did not give you his number," Natasha shook her head. "You are _lying_ , Bucky Barnes."

"He did!" Bucky set down the phone, and looked at his arm. Sure enough, the number was still there, smudged and half-faded but still legible.

"I can't believe this," Natasha sighed, her head dropping out of frame, likely as she facepalmed. The treadmill turned off after a minute, and she stood back up into frame.

"His number's right here!" Bucky said, showing her his arm, "He wrote it on my arm! See!"

"That could be anyone's number!" Natasha accused, then asked, "Did he tell you to text him or call him?"

Bucky thought about it, "Uh, text him."

"Then do it," Natasha ordered. "Right now."

"I'm FaceTiming you right now, Nat," Bucky sighed, apparently having to state the obvious. "On my _phone_."

"Hang up and text him!" Natasha growled. "Then tell me if he replies! If you expect me to believe you I want proof."

"Alright, alright," Bucky sighed, picking up his phone, "Bye, then."

He was just about to turn it off when Natasha called out, "Hey, wait, before you go!" He stilled, looking at her in anticipation. "When is your sister supposed to get here?" she asked.

"Five," Bucky said. "Why?"

"Because my Christmas party is at seven," Natasha smiled, "and I expect you both to be there! Whether or not Steve Rogers has proposed to you by then..."

"Yeah, ha ha, very funny," Bucky scoffed.

"For real, though, everyone is coming. Clint, Bruce, Tony and Pepper are even gonna be there!" Bucky winced a little at how casually Natasha talked about Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. Tony Stark was quite possibly the richest man on Earth, Gatsby-esque with how eccentric and arrogant he was, and Pepper Potts was both his company's CEO and his fiancé. Both were hyper-intelligent  and more than a little frightening (in a good way).

How Natasha came to know billionaire Tony Stark was actually a bit of a conundrum. According to Natasha, she'd been his personal assistant for about two months before being let go. If you asked her why she was fired and yet remained good friends with him, she would simply shrug and say, "I killed a man." Tony never contradicted her story and she never provided any details, so Bucky had honestly been too politely frightened to press the issue.

He sighed at Natasha, "Nat, those are all _your_ friends, not mine!"

"You and Clint get along really well!"

"Yeah, because we both have disabled parking permits and are better than you losers at throwing darts!"

"Just come, Bucky!" Natasha sighed exasperatedly, "and bring your sister! She's far more lively than you!" Natasha only said that because Rebecca was practically a teenage version of her, personality-wise at least.

"Fine," Bucky groaned.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"You're welcome," Bucky huffed back.

"Text that number!" Natasha commanded, right before hanging up.

Bucky sighed and opened up his Messages, starting a new one and typing in the number (which was a little difficult given he had to keep pausing to look at his arm in addition to deciphering the smudged writing). He tried to think of what to say. " _Hey, it's James, the amputee you met at the airport. Are you as in love with me as I am with you?_ " Yeah, that sounded swell.

Bucky finally decided on, "Hey, just so you know, I decided not to publish my tabloid article about your lurid exploits. —James".

The message delivered.

Bucky waited.

And waited.

He decided to pass the time a bit by taking a moment to add Steve to his contacts. Unsure of what to call him, he decided on "Steve Rogers" with the occupational subtitle "Hottest Man On Earth".

A full five minutes passed and nothing happened.

Bucky realized he was being ridiculous standing there staring at his phone. Steve was famous. He was probably seriously busy all the time. Even if he did reply, it might not be for hours. Days even.

Bucky resolved to eat some breakfast. Or lunch. Whichever word applied to a meal eaten immediately after waking at noon. (It occurred to Bucky that he did this enough that he ought to have a word for it at this point.)

Opening the fridge again, Bucky was painfully reminded of how low-stocked he was on groceries. He'd been putting off grocery shopping for a variety of reasons for a couple weeks now, but he decided that, given his sister was visiting for two days and he'd need to put on a good show, he'd better go pick some stuff up. Especially if they planned to eat at some point.

Bucky tied his hair back up, liberally applied deodorant, and changed into clean clothes before setting down to making a list of things to pick up. He decided on the essentials (milk, eggs, bread, etc.) followed by some fresh produce and possible ingredients for a Christmas dinner (such as ham, stuffing mix, green beans, etc.). Finally, list in hand and phone in pocket (metaphorically, that is; both items were actually in his pocket), Bucky set to work attaching his prosthetic arm (a requirement for driving anywhere legally). He fixed the straps around him and tightened them, and spent probably a good five minutes adjusting the thing so it fit somewhat comfortably and worked how it was supposed to. It was a simple contraption of metal bars and threads with a blunt claw on the end and a sort of rubbery plastic coating to simulate a smooth surface (which was still nothing like skin). Bucky had gotten used to using it for a variety of tasks by now, even though he still preferred not using it at all. It was clunkier and more uncomfortable than a real arm, and did less with more effort.

Bucky ventured into the chilly outdoors — 47°, according to his phone — locking his door and getting in his car to drive. While Bucky did technically live in Brooklyn, he lived in a residential neighborhood basically at the very edge of the city, quite a trek from the part of Brooklyn he grew up in, but far easier to live in and paid for by the money left by his parents. His car was an old but fully functional SUV with his disabled parking placard, prosthetic-enabled steering wheel, and all, and Bucky had to admit that one of the few problems of missing his left arm rather than his right was that he'd always been far stronger with his left (though more coordinated with his right), which made it hard now to drive with a prosthetic arm steering while he adjusted the gear shift or rear view mirror. Regardless, he managed, and managed well.

The nearest supermarket was a local place about three blocks away. Bucky navigated the Christmas Eve traffic to arrive around 12:45 and pull into an empty handicapped spot up front. Bucky didn't usually use handicapped spaces, since he didn't actually have any problems in mobility, but he was always thankful for his placard on days like this one when the parking lot was packed full.

Bucky self-consciously pulled his hoodie sleeve down as it could go over his prosthetic, and then maneuvered the exposed claw hand into his pocket. He got out of the car and was locking the door when suddenly his phone vibrated in his pocket. Giddy exhilaration suddenly filled him to his core, and he quickly put away his keys so he could pull out his phone.

He checked the message.

 

Natasha:

did captain america reply yet???

 

Hopes dashed on the rocks, Bucky frowned and stuck his phone back in his pocket, before suddenly feeling eyes peering down the back of his neck.

He turned to look around.

Some middle-aged white soccer mom was glaring at him.

"You got a problem, ma'am?" he asked as polite as possible, despite his frustration.

"Those spots are _supposed_ to be for people who actually need them!" she scowled, while some children that were no doubt her spawn fought in the backseat of her car. "You don't look disabled to me!"

"Ma'am," Bucky sighed, voice dripping with derision, "if you don't start minding your own business soon, I'm going to yank off my prosthetic arm and throw it at you." Her eyes widened and her face went pale. "Enjoy the rest of your day," Bucky said, and walked nonchalantly toward the supermarket while one of her progeny began screaming at the top of his lungs.

Bucky fished a shopping cart from the front entrance and used his prosthetic to push it while his right hand dug out his list. He walked around, piling the things into his cart that he absolutely needed first, trying also to make healthy choices like his mom would no doubt nag him to do if she were still there. It was more a subconscious thing for him now — picking organic produce over the regular stuff because of pesticides and choosing whole milk over low fat because of all those talks his mom would give him about "healthy fats". His mom had been a nutritionist, and had actually also been very anti-dairy, but he had never been able to give up milk, cheese, or _(God forbid)_ ice cream, so she had learned to lecture him about what healthy dairy products to choose rather than telling him to abstain wholly. He actually found himself picking up yogurt a lot more recently, after remembering all the stuff she used to say about live cultures and health benefits of good bacteria (Bucky didn't actually remember what any of this stuff meant; he just remembered that yogurt was supposed to be good 'cause of this stuff).

Bucky was late into his Christmas dinner ingredient part of the list when his phone buzzed again. He was so caught up in shopping that the moment his eyes flickered over the screen, he actually jolted in surprise.

 

Steve Rogers:

Too bad! I was looking forward to reading something torrid and interesting today! :D

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all trippin' if you think Nat isn't working an angle.  
> This fic is just unabashedly fluffy. I just want my two gay sons to be happy.  
> Hope everyone had a merry Christmas!  
> Btw I know very little about how disabled parking permits work exactly (what the qualifications are) but a friend suggested the white mom scene to me and I'll never be one to pass up a joke at the expense of ableists, even if the info is sorta inaccurate/under-researched.


	5. INT. Steve's Apartment - Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve was thoroughly enjoying his Christmas Eve, far more than he'd expected. When his agent had told him he'd have a week off for the holidays, he'd been excited already to go back home again, but he hadn't been prepared for the unexpected turn his life might take.  
> Or for the incredibly hot guy straddling his lap and currently moaning into his mouth as his facial hair rubbed softly against Steve's face. 
> 
> ...
> 
> Steve's relationship with Bucky progresses.

Steve was thoroughly enjoying his Christmas Eve, far more than he'd expected. When his agent had told him he'd have a week off for the holidays, he'd been excited already to go back home again, but he hadn't been prepared for the unexpected turn his life might take.

Or for the incredibly hot guy straddling his lap and currently moaning into his mouth as his facial hair rubbed softly against Steve's face. Steve couldn't help but moan, " _James_ ," as the dark-haired man kissed down his neck, tickling him a little with his scruff.

"You're so gorgeous, Steve," James was groaning into the skin on his chest. He had pulled Steve's shirt off moments ago and his hands were roaming his torso, now joined by his mouth. Steve gasped as James planted his lips around one of his nipples and started to suck.

"That feel good, Steve?" James smiled at him, a few strands of hair falling in his face. "You don't know how much I wanna make you feel good right now, Steve."

Steve pulled at James' hooded sweatshirt, and he obligingly pulled it off, revealing his toned, lightly-hairy physique underneath. In moments, both of them had their pants off, and James was stroking his beautiful cock alongside Steve's, moaning into the skin of Steve's neck while Steve felt up his hard shoulders, muscular back, and firm buttocks.

"Can I suck your cock, Steve?" James was suddenly asking, and Steve barely had time to nod before James was hitching Steve's legs up and slipping down to lap greedily at his cock, sucking and slobbering obscenely on it, sending Steve's head reeling. Steve ran his fingers through James' beautiful dark hair as his hips bucked, fucking into the brunet's mouth and making him moan around Steve's cock, sending vibrations through his crotch.

Before he knew what he was doing, Steve had flipped James over on the bed so he was facing up, and was feeding his cock back into James' mouth at an angle so he could lay down over James and bury his face between the man's beautiful ass cheeks, lapping into James' hole hungrily and eliciting even more moans from the brunet, who was soon pulling Steve's cock out of his mouth to slobber on it one last time before devoting his mouth to Steve's hole, burying himself in Steve's ass. Steve groaned deeply, bucking his hips so that his cock dragged across James' collarbone while James gave him the best rimjob of his life, licking into him and opening him up with his wet tongue. Steve finally reared backward so he could sit on James' face, getting James deeper in him while he lightly fingered the brunet's hole. Steve moaned, rocking back into James' mouth, so close to cumming, so close...

Steve started fucking James with his fingers, thrusting in and out to the beat of James' tongue thrusting wetly inside him. With a deep satisfied noise, James suddenly came untouched, spurting white all over his stomach, and that was it for Steve. He felt his orgasm wash over him as he pumped out cum, squirting white ropes of the stuff all over James' body, his hair, his face...

Steve sat up abruptly in bed, feeling wetness spreading through his underwear. He was alone. James wasn't there.

Steve was instantly hit by his guilt like a ton of bricks. Whenever he had wet dreams like this, he always felt ashamed — a combination of disgust with the mess in his boxer briefs and residual homophobic guilt left over from being in the closet his entire life. Then there was how explicitly dirty the dream had been — for Steve, practically a virgin, it felt like he needed a cold shower in holy water. And the fact that it was about James? The icing on the fucking cake. Steve felt so guilty — what would James think if he knew Steve had thought about him that way? Jesus Christ, the guy was a fan — Steve was no better than those douchebags on the plane objectifying anyone less than them. Not that James was less than Steve, but he was certainly at a societal disadvantage, with Steve being a rich celebrity and all...

Steve groaned and went to the bathroom, stripping off his boxers and throwing them in the hamper before turning on the shower. With a slight yawn, he turned on his phone.

It was 12:48. He'd slept the entire morning away. Oh well.

Oh, and he had a message from an unknown number.

He opened it absentmindedly, and his heart suddenly leapt in his chest.

 

12:08

"Hey, just so you know, I decided not to publish my tabloid article about your lurid exploits. —James"

 

  
James had texted him! This was great — this meant they could talk more. They both lived in Brooklyn. Maybe Steve could suggest they meet up somewhere. Or would that be a weird thing for a celebrity to do after meeting a fan? It did sound kinda skeevy. But Steve really wanted to see James again...

What if James was completely uninterested in him romantically though? Sure, he had been so open when they talked and had shown a lot of thought about the character of Captain America, but James might just be a passionate fan. Steve had met a lot of those before.

He'd also met a lot of strange obsessive fans before. It felt unfair to suspect such a nice guy as James (and an amputee veteran at that) of having hidden intentions, but what if he did? What if the "passionate fan" was just a show?

Steve's throat suddenly went dry. " _Lurid exploits_ ". His thoughts immediately went to the dream he'd had.

But no, there was no way James could know about that. Steve momentarily questioned the nonexistence of telepathy before deciding James was clearly joking.

Still, Steve was a little uncomfortable. Here he was worrying about James' intentions and he'd just had a seriously sexually objectifying dream about the guy.

Steve sighed, setting down his phone and stepping into the shower. He spent the eight minutes it took his to scrub himself clean thinking over how he should reply to James' text. He had to keep it casual and friendly, but not overly interested. By the time he'd gotten out of the shower and dried off, he'd decided on "Too bad! I was looking forward to reading something torrid and interesting today!" He tacked on an emoji on the end for good measure.

He selected James' number to add to his Contacts, and realized that at no point had James provided a last name. Just "James". He knew who Steve was entirely; Steve only had a first name for his Contact while James probably had his full name _and_ occupation.

Steve got dressed, putting on a clean pair of briefs, a bluish grey dress shirt, and some khakis before checking his phone again.

 

James:

I think I have a friend of a friend who could give you some good fic recs lol

 

Steve reeled a little bit. "Fic recs" meant "fanfiction recommendations". Did James read fanfiction? Steve had seen glimpses of it, and while he was aware some of it was tame, he was pretty sure a majority of it was smut, and all of it seemed a little creepy in a way. Anonymously deciding the romantic and sexual relationships and even fates of characters? It was odd to Steve, to say the least.

Steve had to know.

 

Steve:

do you read fanfiction??

 

James took a minute to respond this time.

 

James:

would you believe me if I said I read it for the character development? xD

 

Actually, part of Steve would, given how much James had talked about Captain America's characterization. But then again, if James read stories about him — or his character — having sex...

James suddenly texted again.

 

James:

I kinda stick to the fluffier stuff myself

why? do u read fanfic steve? [winking, tongue-out smiley emoji]

I s2g if captain america himself tells me he reads fanfiction I will die

 

Steve laughed, somewhat reassured.

 

Steve:

no [emoji with a line for a mouth]

just curious

 

Steve padded into his kitchen to get some water, clutching his phone while opening the cupboard for a glass. He examined the visible living room for a moment — it was barren decoration-wise. He hadn't been home since the 8th, and hadn't gotten around to any sort of Christmas decorating. He was sure his mother would be horrified to know he was spending Christmas without any proper festivities, but then, he often did that with holidays.

Steve filled his glass with ice water and took a long sip before feeling his phone vibrate again.

 

James:

so what is captain america himself up to today?

 

' _Dreaming about you naked in my bed_ ' popped into Steve's mind for a moment.

 

Steve:

nothing special. lounging around before I go to christmas eve service tonight.

 

James:

you go to church?

 

Steve:

when I can

I always try to go on holidays

my mom was really involved in church and all so I like to do it to remember her

 

James:

aw that's sweet

you're gonna make me blush in the middle of the damn supermarket, rogers

 

Steve laughed, starting to blush himself. So James was grocery shopping, huh? It was odd to imagine texting him while doing such a mundane thing — Steve hoped he wasn't bothering him.

 

Steve:

lol I hope I'm not distracting u from ur grocery shopping

 

Steve opened his emojis and went to press the tongue-out smiley emoji, accidentally hitting the heart-eyes smiley emoji instead. He hit Send at the same moment he realized his mistake. Part of him screamed in anguish on the inside.

 

Steve:

oops I meant [tongue-out smiley emoji]

 

He waited a moment. James didn't respond. 'Oh god,' an irrational part of him thought, 'he must think I'm in love with him or something.' Of course, Steve kinda was at this point, or at least in love with the parts of him he knew. In less than a minute, though, he responded.

 

James:

aw shucks rogers, and here I was with my heart all aflutter

 

Steve was pretty sure the feeling gripping his chest was cardiac arrest. He read the text over several times. James was being sarcastic... right? Or...?

Was this confirmation...?

Steve's attention was suddenly diverted by the sound of something crashing and Natalie yelling, " _Fucking shit_ —!"

Steve hurried to his front door and opened it to see Natalie standing in her open doorway, wearing a black tank top and sweatpants with her hair in a ponytail, glaring down at a large plastic storage container of Christmas decorations, which had crashed to the ground, spilling lights, ornaments, angel figurines, and tiny Santas everywhere.

"Here, let me help you," Steve said, kneeling at the same time she did and picking up  small box of ornaments to stick back in the container.

"Thanks," Natalie sighed, scooping up some multicolored lights and dropping them in.

"So what's all this?" Steve asked with a smile, holding up a tiny figurine that looked like the abominable love child of Santa Claus and a garden gnome.

"The reject pile," Natalie chuckled. "I finished decorating my apartment for my party so now I have to stick these leftovers back in storage."

"You're throwing a party?" Steve asked, scooping more Santas into the container.

"Oh, yeah," Natalie said, tapping her forehead, "I forget that you're not usually here for the holidays." That was true. When Steve wasn't promoting some movie he was in, he was usually going to holiday parties in L.A. or traveling. "I throw a Christmas Eve party each year," Natalie nodded. "You're more than welcome to come if you aren't doing anything. Another celebrity would certainly liven things up."

"Another?" Steve asked.

"Oh, yeah, my friend Tony Stark will be there," she said nonchalantly. "He's always a hoot." Billionaire industrialist Tony Stark. Steve had never met him, but he disagreed with a lot of his political views on government intervention and surveillance, so he thought it'd probably be best to avoid him. He'd hate to start a civil war in the middle of Nat's party.

_Nat_. Who else had he hear say that?

"I, uh, have church tonight at 5:30," Steve smiled apologetically.

"Party lasts all night," Natalie shrugged. "But if you don't wanna come, I understand."

"Oh, no, it's not that—" Steve didn't want to be mean. Before he knew what he was saying, he finally stammered, "I mean, I guess I could come after..."

"Cool!" Natalie smiled, standing with her container in her arms. "See you then!" With that she walked down the hallway and vanished into the elevator.

' _Oh god_ ,' Steve thought, ' _what have I gotten myself into?_ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'm that kind of jackass. Hope I didn't actually fool anyone into thinking we'd made that much of a time leap.  
> In case it isn't growing more and more apparent, everyone in this fic is AU except Natasha. She is literally the same in every way, as we will see with later chapters.  
> We're halfway through this fic! (Ao3 keeps deleting the chapter count, but there are only 10 to this fic). Hope you're enjoying it!

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote almost this entire fic in my head while on the treadmill angrily trying to get my wifi to work so I could watch Netflix. I so did not intend for this to happen. Here you go, though. Next two chapters will be up within the weekend (I will likely be finishing them during church tonight, lol).  
> And yes, I quite unabashedly stole the titles of Steve Rogers' films from actual films Chris Evans has starred in.  
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
